Summer Nights

We were young, just out of high school. I wouldn’t say I was particularly good friends with Dylan, in that I never called him my best friend or, for that matter, even a close friend. He could be awkward, socially, and never quite fit in with my main group of friends. But we lived near to each other, saw each other frequently, and did plenty of activities together over the years growing up. To give a visual, at the time, I was about 160 or so pounds, dark brown hair and green eyes, tall and slim. He was thinner and shorter than me, blondish-brown hair and blue eyes. I played soccer and ran cross country. We had, at first, played soccer together, but he’d stopped playing sometime around sophomore or junior year.

It started innocently, at least from my perspective, or as innocent as two 18-year-old guys can be. It was a warm summer night, and I was at his house, lounging with him on chairs in his backyard. His parents were out of town, and we had somehow procured a 12-pack of cheap beer to split. We’d already had about 3 each. Graduation was a couple of weeks behind us, and the celebration parties had quieted down. We were talking, I think, about girls and sex–who was hot, who was not, who had done what with who, and the like. It was a conversation I’d had repeatedly since I turned 14 with all my guy friends and thought nothing of it. I wasn’t a virgin, at the time, but I could still count on one hand the times I had had sex. Then the conversation took a turn I wasn’t expecting.

“Maybe a weird question, but, how often do you, you know, jack off?”

It was a weird question (I remember thinking, not really a question I could see any of my other friends asking), but one I didn’t mind answering.

“Honestly, probably once a day. I mean, I don’t know if that’s a lot or anything, but I’ll have days go by where I don’t, but I’d say, on average, like once a day.”

“Yeah, same here.” He gave out an embarrassed laugh. “Do you look at porn?”

“Not really. I mean, I have before, but not frequently,” I said. (This, I think, was around the same time online porn and the like was founded or at least before I even knew what it was; porn was not freely and easily accessible like it is today.)

He just nodded, as if in agreement, but honestly I don’t know what he was thinking. We both took a few more sips of our beers. You could hear the cicadas singing and sun had almost completely set. For a moment, it seemed like any ordinary summer night. But I’d felt a charge run through my body once he had changed the topic from the sex others were having to me, in particular. It both turned me on and felt freeing, in a sense of divulging a part of me that I had never talked to anyone about before (or in any way other than typical locker room talk)–yes, I did masturbate, and yes, I did it once a day. I wanted, in other words, to keep the conversation going, and I was curious about him, too. And maybe sensing my eagerness or willingness, Dylan delivered.

“I mean, yeah, it’s hard to find good stuff, you know. A lot of the girls are just not hot, or you have to pay to watch. But I’ve found some good stuff that I like.”

“Yeah, like what?”

“Nothing like crazy, but you know, girls that look more like the girls we go to school with, and they’re with normal looking guys, not what you typically see. I’ve got a pretty good collection at this point.”

“Must be nice to have your own computer.”

“Want to see?”

“I mean, sure, yeah, what else have we got to do?”

I took another sip of beer and followed him into his house. I was remember thinking that I was aroused, but that was also par for the course of being an 18-year-old. We went into his room and he turned on his computer. While the computer booted up, he grabbed a chair from another room so we both had chairs. We sat down and he started opening some folders and typing in passwords or something, I wasn’t really paying attention, but after some time, he had pulled up a folder that had images and videos.

“You ready?” He asked.

He starting opening some images. They were about what you would imagine–hot, naked, college-aged women, striking various poses and of varying degrees of nudity. Some were just breasts bared, others were fully naked, still others were fully exposing themselves for the camera.

“Damn, these are great,” I said.

He kept flipping through more images, some tasteful, some more hardcore, and then he opened up a video and started playing it. It was, sad to say, typical jack-hammering type porn, but arousing nonetheless for the very fact that I was watching it with someone else.

“I don’t know about you,” Dylan started saying, “But I’m getting pretty horny.”

I think I just nodded or muttered a quick agreement. But he wasn’t wrong: I was horny, and I was hard, and I was sitting close enough to Dylan that our forearms were touching. The jack-hammering video had ended and he had started another–a lesbian scene.

“Do you think, I mean, you don’t have to, but, it doesn’t bother me if you want to jack off,” he said to me.

“Right, yeah, I mean, same. If you want to, go for it.” I could see the bulge of his cock under his shorts.

“Yeah, ok.”

I felt a burst of boldness and quickly istanbul travesti pushed down my shorts so I was just sitting in my boxer briefs. He watched me, and then he did the same. I turned my attention back to the computer screen–one girl was making her way down the body of the other, kissing her breasts, then stomach, her hand moving down the other’s thigh and then up to the center of her legs. I put my hand in my boxer briefs, and, involuntarily, let out a small moan as my hand finally touched my hard cock. I started to move up and down my shaft slowly, feeling overwhelmed by the graphic sex scene unfolding on the computer screen and the fact that I was sitting right next to another guy who was also touching himself. I looked down, and saw that he was looking at my hand in my underwear. We were both going slow, restrained by our underwear, and still unsure how far we would be willing to go.

“Do you, I mean, should we take off our underwear, too? It’s a little hard to really jack off with them on,” he said.

“Right, yeah, I’ll take mine off if you take yours off.”

He nodded and we both stood up, looking at each other shyly, and then quickly pushed down our briefs over our hard cocks–we paused for a second, and then took off our shirts too–and then sat back down. I had seen him naked before, but never before hard. It felt different. More raw, maybe, or arousing in a way that felt forbidden, then the times I had been naked with the opposite sex. My heart was pounding. Our packages were similar. Both cut and both probably around 6.5″ to 7″, though I seemed thicker than him. We were both trying not to look at the other, but I could sense he was watching me out of the corner of his eye, the porn almost forgotten.

“This is much better,” he said, starting to stroke himself more regularly. I did the same and saw that the video had ended. The next video was of a guy and a girl, more sensual than the first and more similar to my own experiences. I remember comparing my dick and Dylan’s dick to the guy in the video and thinking that we stacked up well.

We both started getting into it, focusing on the video and stroking ourselves. Occasionally our elbows would touch as we shifted in our seats–it might have been on purpose or it might have been an accident, but not knowing, I think, was even more arousing. I would watch, briefly, to see how he jacked off–it was slightly different than me (I focused more on the head, and he seemed to focus more on his entire shaft)–and I could see the pre-cum starting to form on his tip.

“How long does it usually take you,” I asked. I let out a small moan after the question had left my mouth.

“Depends, but I think I’m getting close.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Do you want to come?”

I just nodded and kept going, as the guy and the girl in the porn switched from missionary to doggy style, stroking myself faster and feeling close. Dylan did the same. By this point, while it all still felt surreal, his naked body next to mine, almost touching, most of the nerves had melted away and it seemed we both had a singular focus on coming.

I noticed that he had stopped watching the video and now was mostly focused on watching me touch myself. I did the same. We could hear the moans from the video, but it was so much more visceral to watch him and his cock and his hands and listen to the way we both tried to keep from overly moaning. With my free hand, I moved to cup my balls as I got close to finishing, speeding up; he did the same, both of us abandoning any remaining pretenses–we were going to come in front of each other and we were going to watch each other do it.

He came first, his eyes locked on my cock. His cum shot out of his cock, up to his chest and then down his stomach, as his body trembled, his breath shaky. I watched him and looked him in the eyes, and then felt the contractions all down my body as I too came all over my stomach and let out a deep moan. We both looked at each other, unsure exactly what the other was thinking, but realizing we had crossed some line.

“Here, I’ll get something to clean up with.” He left–and I remember thinking, holy shit, did that just happen? He came back with two wash rags, still naked and still hard. He, unlike me, had no hair on his body, I somehow only registered for the first time. Even his pubes were minimal. I felt slightly embarrassed as I cleaned up the mess. He stopped the video, and we both pulled up our underwear and our shirts. I was still incredibly turned on, but I didn’t know what to do or say at that point. It was all foreign territory. I think I muttered something about needing to head home; he nodded and walked me to the door. And then I walked home, still in shock.

***

“So, that’s all that happened? I thought you said there was more.” My wife was naked next to me in our bed, running her hands up my thighs and occasionally touching my cock as I told her a story I thought I would never tell anyone.

“Well, yes, but it had to start somewhere.”

I kept going with my story.

***

We didn’t talk about what happened that night for several days. But maybe after a week, I got a text from Dylan in the middle of a hot afternoon.

DYLAN: Hey man, istanbul travestileri my parents are gone again. Want to come over?

There was no doubt to his meaning. Saying his parents were gone “again” showed what was on his mind. I don’t remember what I was doing at the time–probably watching TV or playing a video game–but I was now both half-hard and nervous. Was I, were we, going to do it again? What did that mean? I had thought it over since it happened, but I had decided to pretend that it was nothing more than harmless fun. We were tipsy, horny, hormonal teenagers: this stuff just happens, right? I didn’t consider myself gay. Eighty percent of my day was probably spent thinking about hooking up with girls. It’s hard to really put myself back into the state of my mind at the time, but there was no denying the physiological reaction: my body wanted to go to his house, even if I felt some hesitation over the implications of what it meant for me and my identity.

And so I did go to his house, and so it continued as it did last time. Turning on porn, the (at this point, surely feigned) hesitancy about whether we would get naked as we sat next to each other, the same not so subtle glances at each other’s bodies and cocks, and the same awkward ending after we had both finished. It became something of a ritual; his parents would leave for work or go out of town, he would text me, and I would come over. His mom came back sooner than expected one time, but we were quick enough, I think, that there’s no way she could tell what we were doing.

Then things took another turn. By then, it was the middle of summer. Probably more than a month and half since our first time. I can’t remember exactly what we were doing, but my best recollection is that a large group, maybe a dozen or so of us–guys, girls, all recent graduates from the high school–had gathered in a local park one night. We had some beers and other alcohol; there might have been a joint being passed around, too. When we didn’t have a house we could all party at, the park was the next best option: it was not close to any major roads and generally stayed empty during the night, so the cops rarely stopped by, but it was big, with plenty of secluded areas, with wandering trails snaking between the trees and undergrowth.

At the park, we drank and laughed and talked, nothing unusual, at least to begin. I was there mostly because a girl I had been talking to, Hannah, wanted to go so I followed along. What cheerleaders were to football players, that was what Hannah was to alternative or indie kids. She was blonde and quite pretty, with sparkling eyes, and large breasts, but she preferred thrift shops, reading poetry, going to the concerts of obscure bands, and the occasional cigarette. She was a free spirit and we were a bit of an odd couple, but I was enough of a nerd to keep up with her, and I’d had a crush on her for a long time, and, if I’m being honest, I was dying to see her naked.

Hannah and I had started talking a little before graduation, but nothing much happened between us until a few weeks ago when I took her to go to a concert of a local band. We both had started opening up more to each other, finding we had more interests in common than we thought, and it seemed like we were clicking. I wasn’t sure it was ever going to be anything other than a fling. When we left the concert to head home, we took a detour and parked the car at the same park we were at tonight. I grabbed a blanket from the car and we started walking into the park.

It was past midnight and quiet save for the distant sound of cars. We walked to a meadow area and spread the blanket and laid down next to each other as we looked up at the stars.

She turned over on her side to face me. “That was nice, thanks for taking me, though my ears are going to be ringing for the next 24 hours.”

“They put on a good show, though, right? The singer is really good.”

“Agree. Also cute.”

“I didn’t take you here to tell me how cute you think other guys are.”

“Oh, really, and why did you take me here?”

That was an opening if I’ve ever seen one. I also turned on my side so I faced her laying down the blanket. I reached out and pulled her closer to me. Our faces now almost touching, we locked eyes and she gave an almost imperceptible smile. I placed my lips softly on hers and pulled her to close the remaining distance between our bodies; she met my kiss and more–her arm went around my shoulders and the back of my neck, pulling my mouth down into hers. I felt her tongue on my lips, and we started making out. I remember her breath was stale, but still had a hint of mint or strawberry that was intoxicating. I wanted more. I started moving my hand down her back. Her shirt had ridden up an inch or so, and I felt the skin of her lower back. When my hand touch her bare skin, she let out a small moan and moved to lay on her back, her hand pulling me to lay on top of her. There was no hiding my hardness at that point; it was now pressing up directly against her. As we moved our clothed bodies on top of each other, I started to move my hand up to her tits; she was wearing a black blouse with buttons and I’d been staring at the hint of her cleavage most travesti istanbul of the night. My hand reached the bottom of her right breast. At the same time I cupped her breast, I pushed my hardness into her, and she let out a little moan and then pushed me off.

“Get on your back,” she said. I did as instructed.

While I lay supine, she sat back on her knees. She looked me in the eyes, bending forward slightly at the hip, and unbuttoned a few more buttons on her blouse–enough that I could see her black bra, which I saw now was a balconette that barely concealed her boobs. I’m not great at sizes, but they were easily a D cup.She put her hand on my cock and then moved to my belt.

“It seems you like?”

I don’t think I said anything; too afraid I would jinx the moment, I simply nodded in submission to whatever she had planned. She moved to unbuckle my belt and unbutton my jeans; I moved up my hips to help her pull them off. She pulled them down to my knees and then leaned over me, her hand reaching back to touch me on top of my boxers.

“Are you hard for me,” she asked. She was rubbing my cock through my boxers.

“Yes.”

She kissed me and then moved down my chest and abs, biting and kissing. I thought I was going to lose it. She reached the top of my boxers and used both her hands to move them down. Her hand grasped my cock. I’d had a blow job before, don’t get me wrong–but no one had ever looked so pleased to run her tongue along my shaft and then take my head in her mouth. She alternated sucking and stroking, meeting my eyes each time her mouth left my cock and giving me an impish smile. She started going faster and faster, and kept up a steady stream of “I want to make you come” and “I can taste your pre-cum.” She was preternaturally comfortable in who she was and what she liked and didn’t like; it should have come as no surprise that assuredness extended to her sexuality.

Her hand reached down to graze my balls and I involuntarily twitched and let out a deep moan, “fuck, Hannah, that’s feels so good–don’t stop.”

She didn’t. She took me as far into her mouth and she could several times and then she moved back to focusing on the head and stroking me at the same time. I felt the contractions of my orgasm starting–“I’m gonna come,” I barely let out in time–before she doubled down and took my entire cock in her mouth. She took a moment after she swallowed, and then helped pull up my boxers before she moved to lay down next to me again.

“We didn’t have anything to clean up with.”

She said it so nonchalantly, that I didn’t realize at first she was talking about swallowing my cum.

“That was incredible,” I said, “I want to repay the favor.”

She smiled, “Oh, you will. But not tonight.”

“Are you sure?” I would’ve done anything she asked at that point.

She nodded.

“Should I take you home?”

We folded up the blanket and made our way back to my car, hand in hand. Over the next couple weeks, we fooled around more. I finally ate her out one night when she came over and my parents had gone to bed (she eventually explained she was on her period and that was why she didn’t want me to go down on her at the park). Her taste was intoxicating, and I still remember the way her whole body shook when my tongue finally made contact with her clit after what must have been two or three hours of edging–while my parents were still awake, we would sneak off to a side room and furiously make out and touch each other, her hand grabbing my cock through my shorts and my hand finding her absolutely soaking wet. But we still hadn’t had sex.

And that was how it was the night we were all at the park, two or three weeks after our date to the concert. Around the time we were halfway through our alcohol supply, one of the guys ventured that we should play a game. Some of the girls, I remember, brushed him off. But, as we really didn’t have anything much better to do, eventually there was a debate–spin the bottle? truth or dare? seven minutes in heaven? never have I ever?–about what we should do. The crowd was probably 8 girls to 7 or 6 guys, so the odds were in our favor in any game. No one, it seemed, had ever played truth or dare so we agreed we should play.

I don’t remember much of it. Most of it was inane, I’m sure–who do you think is the hottest teacher, are you a virgin, prank call someone, etc. No one there was bold (or drunk) enough to take it to another level. But a few memorable things happened.Hannah, at one point, chose dare. I think everyone was waiting for it to happen, but one of the other guys finally got up the nerve: “I dare you to make out with Courtney.” Courtney was sitting next to Hannah; she was a petite brunette. She wasn’t my type, but she was cute and always struck me as innocent and certainly less confident in her sexuality than Hannah. Hannah just nodded like it was no big deal and then looked at Courtney. I saw Hannah look at Courtney; Courtney gave a small nod. Hannah stood up and, playing to the crowd, theatrically straddled Courtney. One of the guys let out a whistle. Hannah cupped Courtney’s cheeks in her hand and brought her lips to Courtney’s and suddenly they were making out. It was entrancing watching their soft bodies move and hair fall around their faces. It probably lasted all of 20 seconds, but by the end of it I was rock hard, as I’m sure all the other guys were as well. Hannah got up, took a quick look at me, and then gave a smile to the rest of the group.